


There's the River

by alylynn122



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Canon-Typical Violence, Charon is grumpy, Female Character of Color, Ghouls, Hurt/Comfort, Mute!FLW, Muteness, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Sign Language, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-08-08 05:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16423712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alylynn122/pseuds/alylynn122
Summary: While out hunting down supplies for Ahzrukhal, Charon stumbles across an injured vault girl, and helps her. Later, she returns the favor tenfold and the two get stuck with each other. Together, a done-with-the-world ghoul and an optimistic, mute FLW must find their place in a wasteland that would sooner eat them alive.ORGrumpy old ghoul meets non-verbal vault dweller who he can't seem to get rid of, and isn't sure he wants to anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

Charon felt heavy. He hadn’t slept in weeks, ever since that smoothskin had stolen Ahzrukhal’s chem stash, and he’d been sent off into the wastes to scavenge more. He’d been on the move since then, opting to go towards Megaton rather than Rivet City. His employer had ordered him to shoot the smoothskin on sight if he found him, and he’d rather avoid that opportunity, especially in the largest settlement around.    
  
He didn’t bother going into Megaton, instead he skirted it and found himself approaching Springvale Elementary, raider paradise. If anyone had chems just laying around for the taking, it was raiders.    
  
Now, with more holes in his hide than he’d like, he was downing bottles of irradiated water in the shade of a large boulder. His pack was half-full with chems, but he wasn’t done searching yet. It was rare he got to leave Underworld with any semblance of freedom, usually it was for a short trip. But Ahzrukhal had only told him to go and not come back until he’d managed to replace his employer’s supply. Thus, he could stay gone as long as he was able, until the contract forced him back with a pack full of chems.    
  
A sound caught his ear, and Charon turned his ravaged face towards the source of it, dropping his shotgun into his hands as he rose. The shuffling of feet preceded the gasp of a half-hearted sob, and his face tightened at the implication. A female, young, walking haltingly and with difficulty. He rounded the boulder with his shotgun still armed, but lowered to chest rather than eye-level. The sobbing creature at the other end of it froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. She was young, younger than 25 he thought. Her dark skin shone sickly in the sunlight, sweat-glistened chest rising with shaky breaths under her tank top, the bottom of which disappeared into a vault suit secured around her waist. Her pants, bright blue and unfaded, almost burned his retinas with its saturation.    
  
“Who are you?” he growled. He knew there was a vault around here, but from what Charon knew, it had been sealed off for the last twenty some years. There was no denying this girl was a vaultie though. Her deep brown skin was muted, her eyes sunken in, hair a dull, uniform black. She had no highlights in her curls, no shine to her eyes, no healthy pallor in her skin and face. He’d seen similar people before, those who had spent their entire lives underground, never facing the sun. It was easy to read in her small frame and unsure footing on the shifting ground. She stumbled ever so slightly on a rock as she tried to take a step back, shaking her head and raising a neglected 10 mm at him.    
  
“If you are going to shoot me, I would advise against it.”    
  
Almost instantaneously, the girl lowered her gun and aimed it at the dirt between them, her wide eyes shining with more unshed tears, and Charon met them with his own steel gaze. She was staring, shaking in his shadow, and he knew that he must look like a thing of nightmares to this sheltered creature. Still, after a moment, she had the decency to look away and blush in shame at her open fear of him. It was the best response he’d gotten from someone who had never seen a ghoul before, and it was enough to make him lower his shotgun. Whatever this kid wanted, it wasn’t to hurt him.    
  
“You’re bleeding,” he said, gesturing to her shoulder. The girl looked at her wound with little surprise, seeing the blood-stained fabric of her shirt and the hole that spoke of a gunshot. It was obvious she was overwhelmed, her eyes probably still adjusting to the sun. The dust of the wastes had yet to settle on her, and being less than two miles from Vault 101, Charon knew this was her first time out in the Wasteland. And she had the luck of meeting him first. He felt a little sorry for her, knowing what she must think awaited her out here after stumbling across him. She pulled an empty stimpack from her pocket, showing him the used syringe, and he understood that she’d already used her most-likely scant supply of meds.    
  
Ahzrukhal, thankfully, was an idiot who didn’t understand how to phrase his orders. He’d never told Charon  _ not _ to use any of the chems he was picking up, and he’d also never given orders to forbid any autonomy. Charon could do as he liked, so long as he did it while actively collecting chems for his employer.    
  
So, he pulled out a full stimpack and pressed it into the girl’s hand, being careful not to let his skin brush hers. Even smoothskins used to ghouls balked at touching them, and he didn’t want to frighten her anymore. In Underworld, Charon was a monster. A leashed one, but a monster nonetheless. He served as insurance for his employer, to collect caps he was owed. If the caps weren’t forthcoming, Charon was often ordered to collect the payment in blood and marrow. He’d lost count of how many fingers and wrists had snapped in his grip, but it was nice to have an interaction with someone that wasn’t violent, when he could.    
  
The vaultie gave him a timid smile, then slid the stimpack into her pocket. She looked faint, and he was tempted to tell her to use it now before she lost more blood, but then realized the problem.    
  
“Is the bullet still in your shoulder?”    
  
The girl looked at him, surprised, then nodded cautiously, turning around a bit for him to see the unmarred flesh of her back. The bullet was still inside then, and using the stimpack now would seal it in. Charon knew this because of the bullet still in his thigh, and how it aches sometimes. He’d been desperate to stop arterial bleeding at one point, and didn’t bother pulling it out first. Now, fifty years later, the wound still pained him.    
  
“You are going to need to get that out, then apply the stimpack, to stop the bleeding.”    
  
She nodded again, shrugging with a slight grimace. Grudgingly, Charon was impressed with her clear-headedness. Most vaulties were panicked molerats during their first trek into the wastes, especially with a wound and confronted with a ghoul immediately outside their front door.    
  
“Your vault has a doctor, doesn’t it? They should be able to help you.”    
  
Immediately, the girl’s eyes filled with tears and she swiped them away hurriedly, shaking her head as she did. Despite himself, Charon was growing tired and frustrated. His good deed had turned into an ordeal, and he wanted to just be done with this mess. But he was smart enough to know that not everything was as it appeared. For whatever reason, this girl couldn’t go back to the vault. Seeing her wounds, almost certainly she had escaped narrowly from her home.    
  
“You can talk, I’m not going to bite,” he said, sounding more annoyed than he felt. He was used to smoothskins being rendered speechless at his appearance.    
  
She shook her head again, gliding her fingers up the column of her throat then slashing them down in an X.    
  
A mute, then. Charon’s shitty luck just kept getting better. This girl was even more of a walking corpse than he was. Young, mute, alone, and injured with nothing but a crappy pistol for protection, he wouldn’t even bet on her making it to Megaton.    
  
“You’d better sit down,” he said, tone bitter but kind enough. The girl cocked her head at him, but lowered herself into the shade regardless. Out of the bright sun, she looked a little less like death.    
  
“I’m gonna dig that bullet out of your shoulder, cause the doc in Megaton would charge you and I doubt you have any caps,” he explained as he pulled out his own medkit. It was old and sparsely stocked, just enough to keep him alive if he ran into trouble. But it had tweezers and that was all he needed. The kid saw what he was getting at, and pulled a lighter out of her pocket, handing it to him with an expectant stare. She knew to disinfect first, then. That was a good sign.    
  
He flicked the lighter on and passed the tweezers through the flame, before passing it back and letting the metal cool. The kid pulled her shirt free of the wound, sliding the fabric down enough to show a hole just above her right breast. But it wasn’t the wound that caught Charon’s attention. It was the smooth dark expanse of skin below him, without a single mar nor scar outside of the current wound. Completely devoid of deformity, burns, rad-pocks, or scratches. It was such a rare sight, he almost felt his breath leave his body. He couldn’t help but be envious, his own rotten hide was a mess of old bullet tracks and decayed scars.    
  
Gritting his teeth at her hiss of pain, Charon managed to extract the bullet with little effort, and took the stimpack from her to slide into her shoulder without another word. Despite her lack of scars, the girl seemed to tolerate pain well. That, or perhaps whatever malady took her words also took her screams. He didn’t envy her that, didn’t want to consider the terror of not being able to voice the deepest of pain. His throat closed up with memories, and he shook his head as he retreated from her.    
The stimpack had done its job, her skin had closed beneath his fingertips, puckering into a grotesque scar that didn’t look as though it belonged on her unmarred skin. She surveyed the sight with barely constrained curiosity, and didn’t look disturbed at all by the newly-formed insult to her vanity. Charon pushed himself to his feet, brushing the dust from his knees as he did so. Beneath him, the girl did the same, wincing slightly as she put pressure on her injured shoulder. The skin had closed, but the muscles would take another stimpack or rest to heal. Stumbling on the dirt, she shoved her arm back into her shirt, pulling the thinning strap into place.    
  
“There is a settlement that way, called Megaton. You’ll find people, water, and a place to sleep there,” he said, pointing his finger in the most direct route to Megaton. The girl cocked her head, a question in her eyes, and instead pointed to him and herself, then the gun at her hip. She stood straight, trying to look capable. It would have been cute, had Charon had the patience.    
  
“No, I travel alone.”    
  
She nodded, trying to hide the pout to her lip, and even a grizzled old ghoul like himself had to smile at that. He shouldered his pack again while she tucked her arms back into the fabric of her vault suit sleeves. From the corner of his eye, Charon watched her pull the 10mm from her belt and survey it curiously, fingers deft over the handle. Her unimpressed look alleviated a tad of the weight in his gut. At least she knew how to tell a good weapon from a bad one. Perhaps she would make it to Megaton.    
  
He turned to leave, but a hand on his shoulder turned him around. The smoothskin slid her hand down to the bare skin of his upper arm, just below his shoulder pads. Charon almost shuddered at the contact, the feel of her warm hand on his mutilated skin, but the look in her eyes stopped him. She squeezed the muscle once, not the slightest perturbed at his leathery hide, and mouthed her thanks. He gave her a gentle smile, hoping it didn’t look terrifying, and squeezed her hand softly before letting it drop. With that, he turned and walked back into the wastes, not bothering to look behind him.    
  


* * *

  
  
He had been stupid to skirt Megaton. He should have restocked, bought more shotgun ammo at one of the last settlements this far west. Now, stuck behind a crumbling wall with an empty gun and only a useless machete against another group of raiders, Charon cursed himself. He had been stupid enough to try and raid the camp, collecting greedily piles of chems that were now weighing down his pack.    
  
Well, no changing the present. He had two options, and both were as likely to get him killed. He could either drop his pack and let the chems be a distraction while he made his escape. But despite Ahzrukhal’s lack of time limit, even he knew recollecting the chems would take too long. His employer would just send him straight into a super mutant encampment or on another pointless life-threatening task    
  
His other option, however, was to try and run with the heavy pack or stay and take out the group of raiders, which on no food and little sleep, he’d be flirting with death. So the question was, did he want to die now or later?    
  
Charon ground his teeth, the squeak of enamel filling his ears as he tried to reassess his options. There had to be some way, he hadn’t made it over two centuries just to die at the hands of some Jet-stupid idiots. He could leave his pack, tackle the nearest one, and hope he shot somewhere nonlethal. Then he could use the gun from that raider to take out the rest. Unlike his other plans, this one hinged on him being able to take a bullet, which he didn’t like the thought of any better. His armor was in bad disrepair, and with no other backup, he’d be lucky if he didn’t bleed out before clearing the area.    
  
He snuck a glance around the corner, seeing where the closest enemy was, and cursed as a bullet grazed his shoulder. Much, much closer than he expected. It was possible the raider who had shot at him was just on the other side of the shack he was huddled against.    
  
He was back to reassessing his options, and now ignoring yet another bullet wound, but couldn’t come up with any method of action that didn’t lead to his death. Even if he did drop his bag now, he might not make it. Raiders weren’t known to be smart or forgiving.    
  
Charon swore and threw his pack to the ground, shifting his shotgun into his grip to use as a club, and launched himself around the corner. Shots fired past his ear, and another clipped him in the thigh, sending him sprawling out into the dust, right into the raider’s feet. A harsh laugh mocked him as a gun was raised to his temple, and he couldn’t find it in himself to move. Instead, he closed his eyes and waited.    
  
But when the shot came, it wasn’t into his head. He peeled his eyes open to watch the raider above him fire two shots toward a roof less than fifty meters away. Before the third shot could leave his gun, a neat bullet caught him directly between the eyes, and the raider fell backwards into the crumbling wall. Four more met the same fate, and fell into the dirt where they stood, with little pathetic cries to herald their demise.    
  
On the roof to his right, Charon saw a tiny figure slide to the ground, gun held confidently in a steady grip, sweeping the area as the figure hurried towards him. He caught a glimpse of dark eyes before his vision faded away into nothing.    
  


* * *

  
“Kid, look, I’ve already done enough for you. I can’t do anymore, not without some caps.”    
  
Charon’s world came back slowly, trickling into his consciousness with all the speed of a leaky faucet, achingly tedious. He heard voices, tried to decipher them. But for all he could understand, there was only one person talking.    
  
“If you need caps, go look around town, you can find some jobs to do. Your friend can stay here, I’ll even give you a discount on the bed. I can just add it to your tab.”    
  
Something smacked down on a table, sounding like a fist, the muted impact of flesh on wood, and the speaker sighed.    
  
“There’s no need to get upset. I could just toss you out right now, but instead I saved your friend’s life. You should be thankful. Now come back when you have some caps, he’ll make it until then. But I’d hurry, his painkillers are going to wear off soon.”    
  
The sound of footsteps echoed across the metal floors, and Charon felt the whole building shake when the door slammed.    
  
****************************************************   
Gemma’s face felt permanently stuck in a scowl position by now. She’d managed to drag the man to town, even with his pack, and find the doctor in time to stop the bleeding from his thigh and stitch up the worst of his wounds, which she could have done easily had she had the supplies. Instead, she had to entrust him to the hands of the town medic. Something inside her ached for Jonas, for his gentle hands, and her father’s reassuring bedside manner. They would have helped the man for free, especially after what he did for her.    
  
Her feet lead her up the path to the town bar. If anyone had caps to spare in exchange for work, it would be a saloon owner. She shouldered past the door, trying to soothe her face into something less terrifying. Her charm and charisma were all she had right now, and she had to use them as best as she could.    
  
The bartender was another grizzled person like the one she had met. His face was more deteriorated than that of her “friend”, discolored in ways that almost looked like bruising in some places. He cleaned a gas as he argued with a woman about the radio. The woman was leaning against the wall with a cigarette between her lips, telling the bartender to lay off the radio with a disinterested air. It was her who met Gemma’s eyes first, and she arched a single fine eyebrow as she put out her cigarette in the ashtray.    
  
“You alright sweetie?”    
  
Gemma shook her head, tapping her throat in explanation.    
  
“Can’t talk? That’s alright, you’ll get along just fine with Gob here,” she said, gesturing to the bartender, before pointing back to herself, “I’m Nova. If you need a room or company, come talk to me honey. Anything else, talk to Gob. Well, I guess sign, on your part.”    
  
Nova’s smile was kind enough, if a little questioning. Gemma smiled back and then turned her gaze on the bartender, who seemed to cringe from it.    
  
“Nova, don’t scare the poor kid, didn’t you see the suit?” he complained without any bite.    
  
She didn’t hear Nova’s response over the sliding of the barstool, and slid into place in front of the bartender without further protest from either of them. Reaching out, she caught the bartender’s hand in her own and tapped it to get his attention.    
  
He pulled his hand from hers with a panicked gasp, and turned to face her fully. From this close, she could see that the discoloration was most certainly bruising. Concerned, Gemma touched her fingers to her face and gestured to his own, shrugging her shoulders in question.    
  
The bartender visibly deflated, eyes downcast, as if ashamed.    
  
“I’m guessing you’ve never seen a ghoul before, eh kid?”    
  
Gemma shook her head, then tapped under her eye, where his own was bruised a sickly green. Gob just stared at her, mouth agape.    
  
“My… My eye?”    
  
She nodded enthusiastically. For some reason, the people out her understood her better than the vault ever had.    
  
“Oh that’s just Moriarity, kid. Part of the job, don’t worry about it.”    
  
Head cocked, she crooked her own eyebrow in question. Gob laughed, seeming to feel a little more at ease.    
  
“You’ll find out soon enough. Now what can I get for you, smoothskin?”    
  
Gemma pulled out her pipboy and clicked to an empty notes screen, then painstakingly typed out a message. She tapped the bartender’s hand again and moved her arm awkwardly so he could read her screen.    
  
“A job? You’ll have to talk to Moriarty about that, kid,” Gob grumbled, shaking his head as he pulled away from her pip boy, looking her over with something akin to pity. He shot a glance to Nova, who shook her head as if in warning.    
  
“The last vaultie who passed through here was looking for the same thing. I don’t think there’s much, although I’m sure Moira could always use help with a few tasks. I don’t know if the caps would be worth it though, she’s a few rads short of a feral, that one,” Nova explained.    
  
Gemma’s hung swung around at the word “vaultie”, and she was frantically typing something on her pipboy. Just as she passed her arm to Gob, who to his credit tried his best not to touch her as he leaned over the screen, the door behind them slammed open and sent all three of them jumping.    
  
“The fuck is this? You think I’m payin’ ya to sit there and stare at a screen all day, boy’oh? Get back to work!”    
  
Gemma didn’t miss the way the ghoul flinched and stiffened, mumbling, “Yes, Mr. Moriarty.” She narrowed her eyes at the newcomer, an old man with a strange accent.    
  
“Lay off him, Colin,” Nova admonished lightly, “he was trying to help a customer.”    
  
Moriarty turned his gaze to Gemma this time, and she felt colder for it. Her eyes snaked back to Gob’s bruises, and she glared back at the man defiantly. As if sensing her challenge, Moriarty came up to stand beside Gob, slapping his hand on the ghoul’s shoulder solidly, in a cruel parody of a friendly touch. The bartender flinched each time, cringing away from the man as much as he could, but he was cornered.    
  
“Well then, kiddo, what can I help you with?”    
  
Gemma bit the inside of her cheek as she typed out a new message. Moriarty had no issues grabbing her arm to read the screen, fingers gripping cruelly tight.    
  
“Your daddy? Yeah, I saw him. He was here, and left again. And that’s all your getting for free, lass.”    
  
Gemma yanked her arm away with little to hid her revulsion, and shot the old man a glare that spoke better than words ever could. Moriarty laughed, although she saw his flicker of anger beneath that charade.    
  
“I think I’ve insulted her. Listen, lassie, the world out here isn’t anything like your little vault. You want something, you have to have something to trade for it. Information is as much of a good as stimpacks or alcohol, and I’m not a charity. Now, if you don’t have caps or skills to trade, come back when you do and I’ll tell you all about dear old dad.”    
  
And with that, he was sauntering away towards the front door, the door to what Gemma presumed was his office still swung halfway open. Nova caught her looking, and clicked her tongue. Gob’s voice, to his credit, didn’t waver at all as he leaned in and whispered in her ear.    
  
“There’s a back door and a terminal back there.”    
  
Gemma grinned.    
  


* * *

  
  
  
Someone was sitting by his bedside, and faint music was playing somewhere near his ear. Charon groaned, bringing a hand up to press to his aching skull. He reached out his other arm to find the damned radio making that racket, but instead his fingers grazed something warm and squishy.    
  
Once he convinced his eyes to open, Charon turned his head to find the vault girl sitting beside him, a smile on her lips and her eyes shining as she caught his hand and squeezed it, mimicking his goodbye from a few days ago.    
  
Slowly, everything steadied in his vision and his memories flooded back to crowd his skull. A quick glance down to his thigh confirmed that it was indeed wrapped in clean bandages, and the buzzed feeling in his bones sang of stimpacks and med-x. In the background, an old doctor in a dusty white coat fiddled with instruments and did his best to avoid looking at them.    
  
He cleared his throat, and the vaultie dropped his hand, a tad self-consciously, as though she hadn’t realized she’d been holding it still. Charon took that as his cue, and pulled himself up in the bed, grateful there was no blanket to get tangled in. He felt dizzy enough.    
  
“My pack?” he asked, unable to stop himself. It was the most important thing in that moment, and he almost snatched it out of the girl’s hands when she hoisted it from beside the bed. His hands tested the pockets and straps, looking for damage or missing items, but for whatever lingering effects of meds he was feeling, none were missing from his pack.    
  
“How long have I been out?” he asked, dreading the answer. The kid held up two fingers, which he already knew meant days. Groaning, he turned and lifted his feet from the bed. She was there in an instant, trying to push him back into a resting position, not caring the slightest when she touched his unclothed shoulders, and that was when he realized he was shirtless, sitting there in nothing but his boxers.    
  
“Good to see you up,” a voice said from across the room. Charon looked up to see the doctor approaching them, flashlight in hand. He shined it in the ghoul’s eyes without warning, touching as little as possible as he checked his vitals.    
  
“Looks like you were right, kid, the radiation did help. Should have tried that before wasting my stims, would have saved you a lot of money, too.”    
  
Vaultie just crossed her arms and shot the doctor a look, then turned her attention back to Charon. She tapped her temple then chest and pointed to him, concern written in every line of her face.    
  
“I’m fine, kid, don’t go worrying about me. I’ve withstood worse,” he responded. Her smile was brilliant, and she turned it on the doctor in thanks.    
  
“Don’t mention it, now get him out of here. He’s awake, he can walk, and I’m not a hotel.”    
  
The doctor turned his back on them and walked into the upper level of his shack, mumbling all the way. Shooting him one last glare, the girl moved herself onto the bed by Charon’s side and pulled his arm over her shoulders, obviously intending to help him up. He almost protested, but found rising even with her help to be no small feat. Panting, she released him long enough to shoulder his considerably heavy pack on her other arm, then stepped back into place to support him.    
  
Charon didn’t bother asking where they were going, the kid obviously had a plan and she’d gotten them this far. He followed her without comment, matching his steps to hers, breathing ragged through the bolts of pain shooting from his thigh. The wound must have been bad, if it was still this painful.    
  
She lead them to a two-story shack near the wall of the town, fishing keys out of her pocket and twisting them in the lock without ever letting him go. Once inside, she managed to lower him to the couch, and he fell into it gratefully, a full-body shudder coursing through him as his muscles screamed. The girl disappeared and came back with a glass of water, which tingled against his lips as he drank. Irradiated, thankfully. Somehow, the kid had figured out what healed ghouls, and Charon drained three glasses gratefully before laying down.    
  
He wasn’t used to feeling this drained, and figured some part of it must be the meds wearing off. His entire body was one pulled muscle, and even laying down took all of his energy. A groan escaped him before he could contain it, and the vault kid was at his side in an instant, glass forgotten in the kitchen. Her hands fluttered over him, as if scared to cause more pain, before she settled for pulling a blanket off the back of the couch and laying it over him as gently as possible.    
  
“I’m alright, smoothskin, just a little sore,” he reassured her, voice gruff. He hated being seen like this, as if he wasn’t capable of taking care of himself. Still, even he wasn’t dumb enough to think he’d still be alive if she hadn’t helped him.    
  
She smiled and nodded ,then sat gingerly on the edge of the couch beside him, her warmth pressing into his gut, eliciting another shudder. He wasn’t used to people being this close to him, certainly wasn’t used to her eyes on him holding no ounce of disgust at her proximity. It was only then that Charon realized he didn’t know her name.    
  
“I’m Charon,” he said, turning his face towards her as a way of prompting her own response. She pulled up her pipboy, clicked a few buttons, then turned it towards him.    
  
“Gemma,” he read, and the girl nodded enthusiastically. With that settled, she turned her pipboy screen back off and walked into the kitchen again, returning with a glass of water she set on the table beside him. Patting his arm soothingly, and pulling the blanket up to cover him toe-to-neck, she gave him a final smile before disappearing. Behind him, Charon heard stairs creak. The girl was a strange one, this Gemma. Still, he was tired, and as much as the contract choked him when he thought about it, he couldn’t get back to Ahzrukhal in this condition. So, he might as well sleep.    
  
His last thought before drifting off was of where the hell this house had come from. 


	2. Chapter 2

Gemma was proficient in three things: stealing, sleeping, and hiding. She was a mediocre level in everything else. Still, she had absorbed some of her dad’s knowledge of medicine. Enough to know she had really fucked up her leg.    
  
She’d jumped from the highest balcony in town to injure herself enough for Moira’s crazy experiments, and might have overdone it. The trek back up to her house to find her stimpacks was torture, even more so because she knew she couldn’t use them yet. She just wanted them on hand in case Moira didn’t have enough. If she fixed this within the next 24 hours, she might walk properly again. Maybe.    
  
Charon’s reclining form shifted to rigid and alert the moment she stepped in the door, his peering eyes fastened to her leg, watching her as she limped into the kitchen. Her hands were shaking with pain and frustration, and she only succeeded in dropping the stimpacks onto the floor. Tears welled in her eyes, and she bit her lip to keep from crying. The pain was making it hard to think.    
  
Scarred hands reached out from behind her and grabbed the stimpacks from the floor, pressing them gently into her hands. She looked up to find Charon’s eyes on her, brow wrinkled in either confusion or concern. He squeezed her hands once before letting them go, leaving her fingers curled tightly around the stimpacks. He nodded once to her, then limped back to the couch and hovered over it, unsure whether to sit back down again.    
  
Her house guest was strange this way. He communicated mostly in grunts and nods, and spent most of his time cleaning his gun or counting chems in his pack. Gemma wasn’t sure why he hoarded so many and so obsessively checked them, but she supposed she had her strange habits too.    
  
Still, despite their differences, they worked well together. Charon had taken to cleaning the guns she left downstairs, and she had cooked dinner and brought it to the couch to eat together every night. Three days in, it felt comfortable. The silence between them was familiar, friendly. They had no need to tip toe around each other, or worry about upsetting the other or making them uncomfortable, their friendship just flowed. Well, at least she thought of it as friendship. She wasn’t sure about Charon, he was hard to read on the best of days.    
  
And ow, oh fuck, today definitely wasn’t the best of days.    
  
She stuffed the stimpacks into her pocket and started limping her way back to the front door, attempting and failing to stay steady on her own two legs. Without a word, Charon rose and slid his arm under hers, as she had done to him, to support her shoulders. At his height, it was awkward, but between the two of them, they made it to Moira’s without injuring themselves further.    
  


* * *

  
  
The kid was a lunatic. She’d just nearly crippled herself to help with “research”, which was a debatable word when applied to Moira, and she already agreed again to help by getting irradiated. Now, they were standing shoulder to shoulder near the atom bomb, watching the highly irradiated water ripple in the night breeze. The town was quiet, too quiet, Charon could practically hear Gemma’s indecision. If she held his contract, he would have removed her from this situation without hesitation. As her friend, however, he had no say in her decisions, as idiotic as they were. Still….   
  
“This is stupid, smoothskin, even for you.”    
  
Gemma jumped at his voice, turning her large eyes towards him in surprise. After a moment of staring, she shrugged.    
  
“Even if she fixes you up, the amount of radiation she wants you to expose yourself to could permanently change you. You could end up like me.”   
  
She just shrugged again, patted his shoulder, and crouched down to cup some of the water in her hands. There was little he could do but watch as she drank handful after handful, shuddering after every sip. He stepped into the pool and dragged her out when he noticed the radiation burns on her hands, and she shot him a glare before he fell to the ground and threw up all over his boots.    
  
Like he’d said, lunatic.    
  
He scooped her up like an old doll and carried her to Moira’s shop, eager to get this over with. His leg was nearly fully healed, and he felt the contract pulling on him more every day. Charon wanted to be sure the kid wouldn’t get into too much trouble when he had to leave, so it was best to get it over with while he was here.    
  
Moira poked and prodded and asked yes or no questions like she normally did. To Charon’s satisfaction, the kid threw up all over the shop floor before Moira gave her the meds. She chattered incessantly, telling him to make sure she got plenty of rest and fluids and not to worry too much about the gene mutation. Charon just nodded before carting the mostly-unconscious vaultie back to her shack. She laid on the couch for the rest of the night, tossing and turning and waking up to vomit into the bucket left beside her. He was sorely tempted to use a Med-X on her, but his contract would not allow him to take any more chems from the pack.    
  
By the next morning, Gemma was sleeping peacefully, and Charon’s bones were itching with anticipation. It was time to go. It was well passed the time for him to go, but he had lingered as long as he could.     
  
He lowered himself gently onto the couch by her head, gingerly brushing the hair from her face so he could check her fever. With relief, he found her cool to the touch. She shifted under his ministrations, pressing her head into his lap, sighing contentedly when she found a comfortable position using him as a pillow.    
  
As odd as it was, Charon found himself wishing he never had to move. He wanted this, with surprising vehemency. He wanted their easy days to go on, where the most he had to worry about was her astounding capacity for idiotic decisions. All the more reason he had to leave, today. He was getting attached, and worse than that, so was she. Ahzrukhal would never approve of friendships, and if Gemma ever came sniffing around asking for him, his employer was likely to make him kill her just for the fun of it.    
  
No, he had to cut this off before it grew into something he couldn’t end, if it hadn’t already. It’s not like Gemma was the first to treat him with kindness. He tried reminding himself of Quinn and Willow and all the others who were friendly with him until Ahzrukhal had ordered him back to work. There was nothing special about this single smoothskin, or so he tried to tell himself. 

  
Abruptly, his skin started to burn and he knew he couldn’t remain any longer.    
  
He slipped from beneath her and reached for a blanket instead, tucking it around her as she repositioned, seeking the fading warmth of him on the cushions. Charon found himself wishing he had something to leave her, but quickly shook that thought away. He was not a sentimental man, and it was better that she forget him.    
  
Even if he knew he would never forget her. 


End file.
